me in town, and behold the open grassy space known as the Temple Gardens, they invariably exclaim: What a capital place for you to walk in! One would never have imagined that, in the heart of London, there would have been such a fine open space!' 'My dear friend,' I as invariably reply, ‘it is a fine open space; but I must tell you that no one who lives in the Temple ever walks in the gardens! This may surprise you, but it is quite true.'

When, however, it is my lot to pass outside the iron railings of the Temple Gardens, I never fail to observe several nursery-maids, with troops of young children under their charge, walking in them. It has always been to me a subject of wonder to reflect upon the possible district of London from which these nursery-maids and their charges come. If I lie sleepless at night, I ruminate upon the matter. What district of London is there-I ask myself-so well to do as to employ nursery-maids to look after its children, and yet sufficiently near to the Temple Gardens as to render it reasonably probable that it would send its nursery-maids and its children to walk therein ? Although I have reflected upon this question times innumerable, I have never yet been able to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion. Can any of my

readers help me? Yet these same Temple Gardens, though now frequented chiefly by nursery-maids and children, are not without their romantic memories. Does not Shakspeare, in the fourth scene of the second act of 'Henry VI.,' make the red and white roses-the badges of the two Houses of Lancaster and York in the famous wars of that name- to be plucked in these gardens? Did not Mr. Spectator frequently walk here, looking at the ladies in their mighty hoops, and pondering, doubtless, whether he could not write a paper about them? Have not Johnson and Boswell, Garrick and Goldsmith, all sat and talked under yonder tree-whose aged limbs are so carefully supported by iron bars, or 'crutches,' as the poet Longfellow, when he visited the Temple a few years ago, so happily termed them? Does not Charles Lamb devote one whole charming Essay by Elia' to a description of the old benchers who solemnly paced along the river-terrace in these gardens ? Was not Mr. Arthur Pendennis seated in yonder arbour when Miss Fanny Bolton so entirely unexpectedly met him? Above all, did not Mr. George Warrington walk here with Miss Laura Bell during those happy summer evenings of Arthur Pendennis's convalescence-the history of which has been so sweetly told to us by Mr. Thackeray?

It is pleasant also to me to know that for two whole months in the year these Temple Gardens still ring with the happy cries of children, for, in accordance with an old custom, they are thrown open from six to eight every evening from the twelfth of June to the twelfth of August to all the 'gutter children' of London, who pour into them from the filthy alleys of Clare Market, the Strand, Fleet Street, and even Southwark and Lambeth. During last summer, the Temple Gardens were visited by two hundred thousand of these children and-to their credit be it said-they did no damage to shrub or flower. So thickly do the children crowd into the gardens, that upon a fine summer night I have seen the grass literally black with them.

Hard by the Temple Gardens stands the Temple Fountain, which Charles Lamb, in his boyish days as he says himself in his Essays by Elia' 'made to rise and fall many times to the astonishment of the young urchins, my contemporaries, who, not being able to guess at its recondite machinery, were almost tempted to hail the wondrous work as magic.' Has not Mr. Dickens told us in 'Martin Chuzzlewit' how, as Ruth Pinch listened to the music of the Temple Fountain, she discovered that she had a heart, and that it was already given

to John Westlock ? Under the shadow of the Temple Fountain, too, was not poor Tom Pinch, as he came from his work every evening, met by his sister Ruth, and can we not see both of them (and sometimes John Westlock also!) going smiling home together?

According to Charles Lamb-who, however, was a very partial judge-'the Temple is the most elegant spot in the metropolis.' Whether this be not too extravagant a eulogy I shall leave to others to decide, but unquestionably if there be any part of the Temple which may justly be styled elegant, it is the spot where the fountain stands. About twelve years ago, the benchers of the Temple had the bad taste to propose to build a new library upon the site of the fountain, but-to the credit of the members of the Upper Temple be it remembered the whole society rose in arms against such an act of Vandalism. In the end, the benchers had to yield to the wishes of the Templars, and in order to save the fountain, they were obliged to purchase a plot of ground near the river, whereon to erect the new library. Lawyers are not usually regarded as being a very sentimental race of men, and therefore my readers would probably be profoundly astonished were I to tell them how many thousands of pounds this little bit of sentiment about the

preservation of the Temple Fountain cost the members of the Hon. Society of the Upper Temple.

I had to remark just now that no one who lives in the Temple ever walks in the gardens, and I am afraid that to a limited extent-the same thing must be said as to the attendance of resident Templars at the Temple Church. When countrycousins come up to town, and call upon Mr. Briefless, in all probability that learned gentleman will at their request escort them on Sunday to the grand old Temple Church, with its wonderful 'round,' its tapering columns of Purbeck marble, its roof all ablaze with devices of the arms of the two societies of the Temple, and last, not least, its splendid organ and famous choir. Probably also, upon such occasions, Mr. Briefless may intimate, in sufficiently general terms, that 'he attends the Temple Church;' but I am afraid that, excepting on rare occasions, the residents in the Temple do not affect the Temple Church, and that the proverb, 'The nearer the church the farther from God,' is painfully true in their case. Should my reader ever feel the sermon dull at the Temple Church, I may suggest to him a subject of thought. It is said that the benchers of the Temple spent seventy thousand pounds, about twenty-five years ago, in restoring the church.